I stare at Brendon in horror. "Wh... what?" I ask.
"I said, 'Get on your knees and blow me,'" Brendon repeats, looking like he is holding back a "duh." He moves his hands to his belt, ready to unbuckle it. I instantly realise that this has to be some sort of a fucked up Sigma ritual where the neos blow their roommates. It was probably in the secret book, I should've read it, but no, didn't, did I? This is prostitution, this is illegal!
I go white as a ghost as I try not to scream and run out of the room. Brendon's expression is serious as he looks at me expectantly.
"I, er, I, uh, I -" I stammer and swallow hard. Brendon's cock in my mouth. Me sucking his hard length. Brendon's hips bucking. The taste of Brendon's cock, the flushed, hot skin of his erection, the, the - oh, Jesus Christ.
The corners of Brendon's mouth twitch a little as my eyes practically pop out of their sockets.
"Jesus fuck, Ross! I'm not serious!" he laughs suddenly, moving his hands from his belt and sniggering. "You should've seen your face, man."
And just like that, Brendon walks past me to his bed, hopping on it comfortably and still chuckling to himself like that was funny. I exhale shakily. By no means do I feel disappointed. No, no, because I don't want to get on my knees for him. I barely know the guy! Not saying that I didn't want to do it if I knew him better, I mean, although, I- whatever, I'm not going to actually think about this. Seriously. Not thinking about this. Stopping. Now. Now!
I turn around and take a few tentative steps toward his bed, at a loss of words, and I'm a poet, for Christ's sake.
"I, uh... uh, you... yeah, ha, very... very funny. You're my... roommate, you, uh?" I say, still trying to get my mind to overcome the single thought of Brendon Urie's dick.
"I've accepted it," Brendon states, tugging his hands under his head as he idly stares at the ceiling. "I went to Patrick to discuss the matter. We had a long discussion, but he wouldn't budge. I said, 'Patrick, I can't be roomed with that jerk,' and he said, 'Oh, but you can,' and then Gabe came in and, you know, Gabe can be scary sometimes, so I said, 'Fine. I'm accepting it, but it doesn't mean I have to like it,' and that was that," he says and then glances at me. "I don't like this, Ross. Not one bit. So you stay on that side of the room, don't touch my stuff and leave me alone, and I'm sure this year will just fly by."
"I thought you'd have your own room," I blurt out in confusion. Well, I did. Brendon's a big shot within the Sigmas, one of the most popular guys. I just assumed he'd have a room of his own, but he's sharing with a neo?
"I was supposed to," Brendon sighs, "but you know."
This reply makes hardly any sense, but my mind is already racing. Is this coincidence? Is it just luck? What is the likelihood of being roomed with the guy I am supposed to be spying on? That is to say, was this a set up?
All I know is that this is an opportunity I should grasp.
I clear my throat and ignore how much I dislike the guy. "Well, look... I think that during rush week we got off on the wrong foot, and since we're roommates, maybe we should... try again?"
My tone is a bit hopeful and very uncertain. So far, Brendon has almost let me fall to the floor during the group activity, and I know he did that on purpose. I have then followed him around and, in the process, annoyed the fuck out of him. Once he had enough of it, he confronted me and told me to back off. After that, we've been nothing but bitchy to each other. If this continues, we'll kill each other before midterms.
"Try again, eh?" Brendon repeats and rises to rest on his elbows, looking straight at me. His shirt has moved up on his body slightly, revealing skin on his lower stomach. For some insane reason, I find this extremely distracting.
